Coffee Mishap
by streeper3925
Summary: Just the usual coffee dilemma type of Mirandy story! A one-shot for now.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to the wonderful Lauren Weisberger and not me. Obviously. **

_**So, this is my very first (published) fanfiction…be nice, please! Constructive criticism is welcomed but any rude comments will be deleted. **_

_**I kind of only wrote this for myself, but then my best friend Sam told me I should put one of my stories on here, so voilà! I feel like there are other people who have written stories with Mirandy and coffee calamities but I really just couldn't help myself! **_

_**This is for those of you who ship Mirandy. So if you don't like it, then you shouldn't read it! **_

_**P.S. there are only 3,000 words and I could make it into a multi-chapter fic, but that all kind of depends on how much you guys like it and if you want or think I should continue it or not!**_

_**I hope you enjoy! **_____

_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. She's totally going to fucking fire me. _Andy sprinted down the hallways of Runway—non-gracefully—juggling bags of Hermes scarves, boxes of Dolce & Gabanna skirts, and Miranda's coffee, while probably sweating clean through her blouse—at least it was somewhat transparent. She was so late.

As she rounded the last corner before "Miranda's hallway," some twiggy woman dressed in a suit decided to suddenly materialize and Andy collided straight into her. Miranda's coffee—her surface-of-the-sun coffee—went spewing everywhere—'everywhere' meaning all over Andy's _seriously thin _silk blouse, effectively burning the shit out her milky white skin.

"_Shit!" _

She was unable to keep the profanity from sputtering out of her mouth and began ripping off the ruined item of clothing—which was quite difficult when you didn't really have any free hands to do so—until the twig, after checking to make sure her own outfit was unharmed, moved to help Andy by grabbing the boxes and bags and putting them on a table nearby. She sifted through the bags to make sure not even a drop of coffee had dared blemish them and then turned to Andy. Her eyes went unceremoniously wide.

"Your—um, I thin—I think you need to go to the hospital."

Andy had freed herself of the blouse, not caring that she was putting on quite the show, when she glanced up at the little piece of—

"_No._ I think _you_ need to get _me_ another coffee for Miranda before _she_ fires me for _your _clumsiness." The unadulterated rage laced in her sentence was enough to make the stammering woman nod and scurry down the hallway, heels clacking with every step. _Wow, is that how Miranda feels all the time?_ It's kind of liberating having that 'b-b-b-b-ut' kind of effect on another person.

Andy knew it wasn't the woman's fault—but she just had her first layer of skin burned off not even a minute ago so 'polite, meek Andy' could really just go fuck herself. In her blinding pain, Andy's brain was thankful the barista would know the correct order once the twig said it was for Miranda, otherwise Andy was probably going to kill someone.

Her chest hurt so badly she had to lean up against the wall in order to not pass out. Maybe she should go to the hospital. Maybe she should also at least _try_ to cover herself. The pain also seemed to be overriding her humility and she awkwardly, and very, very lightly folded her arms over her lacy black La Perla clad chest. It was at that moment she realized, surprisingly, there had been no one in the hallway but her and the woman she was now forever going to deem as 'twig'. There were tears burning behind the lids of her eyes and she screwed them shut because she was _not_ going to cry while only wearing a skirt and bra. She had to keep at least _some_ of her dignity; and she had cried enough in these walls already.

Just as she was about to shuffle her way to The Closet—even though she was late, she was not going to walk into Miranda's office without a shirt on. Miranda'd surely toss her out the window—Nigel came around the corner looking properly exhausted.

"Six—wha—why are you naked?" He arched an amused eyebrow before they furrowed into concern and he frowned.

"What happened to your chest?" Before she could respond, he wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her down the hallway. He took off his vest and draped it over her shoulders—it wasn't much, but at least now no one could get an eye full. Andy had started to take in short, staccato breaths once they reached Nigel's office and he helped her down into a chair before carefully removing the vest. Andy inhaled sharply when the fabric rubbed against the angry red blotches of her chest and the tears that she had so furiously tried to keep at bay spilled over and ran down her cheeks. _God, this is so embarrassing. And Miranda is going to murder me. _Nigel examined the area and grimaced.

"Six, I really think you need to go to the hospital, these could be second degree burns."

"No. Nigel, I am so late. Just—please go get me another shirt from The Closet and I'll be fine. Seriously." Andy gave him a pleading look and then after a painstakingly long couple of seconds he relented and left his office, shutting the door behind him. Andy let out a well over due groan and bowed her head. She blew a little on her chest and then quickly decided that was the worst idea ever. She was about to burst into an even more well-deserved crying fit when her phone rang. A ringtone designated for only one person bounced off the walls of Nigel's office and echoed loudly in Andy's ears.

_Shit._ Shit, shit, shit.

Andy fumbled for the phone in her purse and flipped it open.

"Andréa, is there some reason my coffee was just delivered by an asthmatic, blubbering woman?" Miranda's soft voice permeated Andy's ear drum and traveled into every single one of her nerve endings, violently rattling them. A resounding shiver split down her spine.

You gotta give that girl credit though; that was fast.

"I—I'm so sorry, Miranda I—I ha—" There was an impatient sigh on the other end of the phone, consequently shutting Andy up.

"Get here. _Now._" The line disconnected.

"Well, shit." Andy breathed out.

She hyperventilated for a good minute and was contemplating whether or not suffocation would be a better way to go than to be on the receiving end of Miranda's wrath, when Nigel walked back into the room carrying exactly the same blouse she had on before. Only this one was in a deep red. She was thankful for that, and the fact that it wasn't low cut, so the fierce redness of her chest wouldn't be seen. He also had an ointment of some kind. Andy reached for the blouse, and Nigel began unscrewing the bottle's cap.

"Here. I'm not really sure what it is, but I found it in the first aid ki—yes, we do have one of those," he countered at the face Andy had made. He wiggled it in front of her and she scrunched up her face.

"If you don't know what it—" Nigel arched an eyebrow- "Ok, ok. Yeesh. Hand it over." Anything to numb this pain.

Squeezing a very small blob of the pasty white goo on her index finger, she very carefully—almost comically—began massaging it into her burned skin. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped in the chair as instant relief washed over the area she had applied the goo to.

"Oh my _God_." She applied a more generous amount and after basking in the liberation of pain for an amazing couple of seconds, she realized she needed to haul ass to get to Miranda before she actually _did _fire her. She thanked Nigel profusely and after putting on the shirt (a little less hastily as when she had taken it off—but not much) she sprinted down the halls. If she kept going like this, she was going to have calves like a Hungarian shot putter by the end of the week.

As she opened the glass doors to the outer office, she mentally braced herself for the verbal evisceration she was about to undergo. Emily looked up and smirked. She slid and imaginary knife across her throat. Yup, sounds about right. Andy went to her desk to set down all the bags and boxes she had been carrying when she realized she didn't have anything in her hands.

_Son of a—_

"Andréa."

_Oh, you have got to be kidding me!_

Where was the huge hole in the ground that would swallow her up and take her someplace else?…she could really use a vacation anyway. But oh no, apparently, today the universe wanted to use Andy as its own personal puppet. So, Andy's legs began putting one in front of the other, slowly moving her further into Miranda's office.

Miranda was sat at her desk, stocking clad legs crossed, glasses dangling from her fingertips as she gently played them across her lips. Her eyes were unwaveringly, unapologetically roving up and down Andy's body. _Jesus. Had that look always been so…so sultry?_ Either way, Andy suddenly became very warm, and her chest—which up until that point had been relatively free of pain—began to burn and itch with a vengeance. She swallowed audibly and squirmed, deciding her shoes were incredibly interesting at that moment. Miranda smirked and placed her glasses on the desk.

"Close the door and sit." Andy, her body again moving at its own accord, turned, closed the door, and walked to sit down in one of the chairs in front of her desk. She began biting her lip—a nervous habit she has never been able to kick—and watched as Miranda's eyes flicked to her mouth and lingered there for a second before finding her eyes once more.

Everything about her was pure predator today. _Oh my God, she's going to kill me. That's why she had me close the door. To mute the sound of my screaming—not that Emily wouldn't gladly help. She's sizing me up and then after she's torn every last shred of my self-respect to pieces she's going t—_

Miranda's voice cut into her thoughts.

"Well, go on then." Miranda flicked her wrist in an offhanded sort of manner and Andy, mouth open, and eyes wide from the direction her previous thoughts had been going, could do nothing but stammer out an ever so eloquent 'uh'. Miranda rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

"I assume you have a perfectly good reason for being late, having some _woman_ deliver my coffee to me, and forgetting the scarves and skirts I specifically asked you to pick up."

_Well, god damn it all to hell. _So she had seen that. Well, of course she did. She's fucking Miranda Priestly. She sees, hears, _knows_ all. And wait, she actually wanted to hear an explanation? Why was there no verbal evisceration? Was hell freezing over?

Well, if anyone were to do it…

Andy began wringing her now sweaty hands together and wiped them on her black skirt, feverishly thinking of a lie that would get past Miranda's razor sharp scrutiny. The woman could detect falseness from a mile.

Accepting that, she looked directly into Miranda's gorgeous, gorgeous blue eyes and said, "That woman who delivered your coffee? She—she um, or rather I, ran into her and your coffee spilled and um, you needed your coffee so I mad—she went to get you another one."

Andy cursed her nervous tongue. Miranda narrowed her eyes.

"And why were you unable to perform that task?"

"Because _your_ coffee burned my chest." Crap. She hadn't meant for that to sound as accusatory as it did. But, it was because of the fact she _insisted_ on scalding hot coffee that her chest was now throbbing painfully.

Miranda's eyebrows shot up in what Andy could only describe as amusement and glanced at her chest before sniffing and looking down at her desk to the various photos scattered across it.

"And are you all right?" Her voice was as neutral as ever.

Andy's brain stalled. _What the?_

"Y-yeah. I mean yes, I'm fine." She lied. Miranda looked up.

"Andréa, if you're burnt badly you should go to the hospital." Yep. Hell had definitely frozen over. Her voice couldn't have sounded _tender_, right? That had to be Andy's totally jumbled brain making that up. Had to be.

"N-no. No, really, Miranda, I'm fine. Nigel gave me some ointment to put on it." Miranda was still not convinced. Which was only proven further when she said,

"Let me see."

At that, Andy's brain shut down completely and her eyes bugged out of her head. This woman had surprised Andy more than any other person she had ever met and she was demonstrating that with pure efficiency today. I mean, yeah, Miranda deals with half naked women all the time, but this is Andy. This is her _assistant. _She did realize that Andy would have to remove her shirt? Right? She sputtered a half coherent refute and Miranda rolled her eyes again and stood up.

"Oh, for God's sake, Andréa. Close your mouth. I'm asking you to take your blouse off, not _strip_ for me."

_Oh. My. God. _And if it registered to Miranda how that had sounded, she didn't show any signs of it.

"M-Mi—" She was going to, attempting to, repeat that no, she was fine when Miranda promptly turned and walked into the bathroom in the corner of her office. She left the door open.

After Andy didn't follow for a long couple of seconds—she was completely rooted to the floor—Miranda stuck her head out of the door and quirked an eyebrow.

"Andréa, that wasn't a question."

Andy's mouth was flapping like a guppy and Miranda smirked once again before she disappeared behind the wall.

_Ok, this is fine. Totally fine. I mean she's just making sure that I'm ok so she can't get sued…it had been her coffee…that makes sense…right? There has to be another reason for this; she can't actually be concerned about my health. I'm her assistant. A very replaceable, mundane, clumsy assistant. _

_And sadly, that's all I'll ever be._

She hadn't realized she had been walking until she was only a few feet from Miranda, arms crossed over her dark blue blazer. She had closed the door behind them and Miranda was now looking at her expectantly. She was even lightly tapping her foot.

"Really, Miranda I—" Her arched brow halted Andy mid-sentence. She exhaled, averted her eyes to the wall just to the right of Mirada's elbow and slowly began inching her blouse up. The searing pain that followed the brushing of the fabric over her chest was what reassured her this was actually happening…that this wasn't some kind of dream. She had been half-convinced it was. It also dwarfed the utter embarrassment she should be feeling for _taking off her blouse _in front of her boss. In front of _Miranda_ _Priestly_.

Andy hissed in pain and once she had completely removed the blouse there was a soft gasp; the sound much closer than she had expected. Andy opened her eyes to see that Miranda had now moved so that she was only half a foot away from her. She was staring intently at her chest and after a few very long seconds, Andy began to fidget. Just as she was about to say something, she had not a clue as to what, Miranda reached a hand out and let it ever so gently hover over her skin. Even though her chest was already burning, she could _feel _the heat from Miranda's hand. It was almost as if she wanted to touch her skin, but was too afraid. It would take next to nothing for that to actually happen. And Andy wanted her to. She wanted her to so badly.

_Touch me._

The thought was like a whisper that gradually ended up as a screaming plea.

_It won't hurt. Please…please, just. Touch. Me._

Andy had stopped breathing by that point. She actually had stopped breathing when that soft gasp left Miranda's lips. She wasn't sure if it had been because of the severity of the burn or the fact that she had chosen to wear a more revealing, very lacey bra today. She looked down at Miranda's hand and then back up to see her biting her bottom lip, her eyes now traversing down Andy's torso, from her chest, to her stomach, and lower. There her eyes lingered until suddenly her eyes shot up and Andy's stomach constricted and dropped at the intensity in Miranda's gaze.

It was incredibly wanton.

Which was ridiculous because that couldn't be true.

_At all._

Andy's eyes went to Miranda's lips. Though very small and quite average, on Miranda they were magnificent, plump, and undeniably sexy. Miranda made everything sexy.

Andy hadn't realized they weren't but inches away from each other. Andy could feel her heartbeat in the soles of her feet. She could feel the sizzle in the air, the undeniable spark that would set aflame if she were to lean just a few inches forward. Time didn't exist. For all Andy knew, it had stopped the moment she had closed the bathroom door. Miranda's subtle perfume, that scent that was so uniquely her was now the only thing Andy could smell. It was consuming her, devouring her, and completely _turning her on._

Suddenly, there was a clearing of a throat and Andy jumped back with a tiny squeak. How long had they been staring at one another? When she looked up Miranda was no longer making eye contact. Her hand had dropped down to her side. Her voice was at an almost whisper.

"I don't think you're too badly burnt. I do however think you should go home." Andy was about to protest when Miranda brought up a hand. "No." Her eyes found Andy's again. They were void of any emotion and Andy's heart fell to the floor. The walls were up and the 'Ice Queen' persona was once again in place.

"Go home, Andréa."

With that she opened the door and walked out. Leaving Andy shirtless and feeling utterly gutted.


	2. Chapter 2

***Disclaimer: So, sadly I don't own these characters, they belong to Lauren Weisberger…I'm much too simple and inept to try and write an accurate Miranda anyways. **

**Thank you guys so much for your reviews! They literally made my day J And you guys are like seriously funny! I appreciate it more than you can even understand!**

**I'm not really sure I like this chapter, and I'm so sorry it's so incredibly short, but I have had so many tests and projects I haven't had time to write anything! I hope you guys like this..? I wrote it kind of quickly because I didn't want to leave you guys hangin' and I'm not really sure if it steered away from my first chapter but you guys are more than welcome to comment on it and give me ideas! I actually…yeah, give me ideas! I love ideas! J**

**Oh, and I am also a HUGE Rizzles shipper! I have a story in Maura's point of view in progress but I'm kind of stuck currently so it would probably only be about the same length as my first chapter of this story. Do you guys want me to post that one as well? Let me know J**

That night, Andy decided she deserved a carton of cookie dough ice cream and a marathon of NCIS. She was curled up on the sofa, wearing her favorite pair of run-down sweatpants, Northwestern sweatshirt, and wrapped up in a fleece blanket. She briefly wandered why the hell it was so cold in her apartment and then remembered she had turned the AC down low to see if that would help soothe the burn on her chest. She actually had gone to the hospital once Miranda had…dismissed her and they had given her some pain medication and some ointment (much like what Nigel had given her) and told her to apply it as needed.

She was pleasantly pain free, after taking one of the pills and lathering her skin in ointment, and was half asleep when her phone suddenly went off, jarring her out of her semi-conscious state. She was too disoriented to comprehend the connotation of the shrill ring tone.

She groaned and groggily sat up. She reached for her phone on the coffee table and almost dropped it when she saw the screen.

Miranda was calling her. Miranda was calling her at 11:30 at night. Was she going to reprimand her for earlier? Was she going to fire her? Over the phone?

Gulping, and now slightly shaking, Andy slid the lock button and tentatively put the phone to her ear.

"H-hello, Miranda?" She didn't mean for that to sound like a question, and she certainly didn't mean for it to sound so mousey.

"Really, Andréa, your eloquence today is just baffling."

Andy cringed and sunk deep into the corner of her couch, dropping her eyes to her lap. She opened her mouth to murmur an apology when she suddenly straightened and felt her blood begin to simmer. _This woman woke me up from what could have been an amazing sleep. I'm not at work, and now my fucking chest hurts. _

"Miranda, it's late and I don't particularly feel very well, what can I do for you?"

There was a pregnant pause on the other end and Andy's stomach dropped. Miranda was still her boss. Shit. If Miranda's call hadn't been to fire her, it certainly would be the reason now. A few more seconds lingered and a rush of an apology was on the tip of Andy's tongue. Miranda softly clearing her throat made her stay quiet. She was not prepared for the words that followed.

"_Nothing_." Miranda hissed. "There is nothing you can do for me, Andréa."

The line disconnected.

Andy stared at the phone in disbelief. What the fuck?

What did that mean? What in the _hell_ did that mean? Why had she sounded _disappointed _at that last sentence? Why hadn't she berated Andy for talking that way toward her? Why had she called this late if she wanted nothing from her? Why the fuck had her voice sounded so weird?

Andy groaned once more, this one laced with more frustration and fell back into the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling.

Up until this moment, she had avoided allowing her brain to think about, to analyze and dissect what had transpired that morning. She hadn't wanted to even try to understand what that…encounter… meant. She didn't even have a proper name for it. Maybe she hallucinated the whole thing, pain does that to people. But, then again if it had been a delusion she wouldn't be here biting her nails wondering why in the hell the tone of Miranda's voice was making her stomach feel as if someone had just dumped a bucket of butterflies in there and they were now furiously trying to find their way out.

Andy sighed.

She'd known for a while about her... "crush." It seemed no matter how callous the remarks, how cutting the insults, uttered by those perfectly glistening lips, everyone fell in rapture at Miranda's feet. Including Andy.

And for a while, she didn't really know if it was just out of awe and admiration for the editor that she felt this sort of affinity and, dare she say it, _affection_ or if she really was _in love_ with her. It was incredibly easy to have a major girl crush on Miranda. Hell, Emily has been doing it since she started at Runway. That's how most of the girls get the job; they worship Miranda and the magazine and then will practically act as slaves just to be included and noticed by her. If only for the briefest of seconds.

Miranda makes you want to do better at your job, makes you want to be _perfect _at it. She makes you a stronger, more independent person. Even if by doing so she tears your self-esteem down until there is nothing left. Until there is nowhere to go but up. She builds you back up, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, until abruptly you find yourself moving on to better things, better jobs. All because you were torn down and unknowingly rebuilt with thicker, stronger walls.

What made Andy's teeth bite down too hard on her pinky finger and draw blood was a very sudden and _loud _realization.

She yelped out a profanity and shot up off the couch to run her finger under cold water. There was already the faint coloration of a bruise forming. She glanced up at her reflection in the mirror, expecting to see another person's face. Baggy chocolate eyes, ratty hair and pale skin reflected back at her and aside from her disheveled appearance she looked the same, she _was_ the same. But, on the inside her mind was reeling a cacophony of snow white hair, piercing blue eyes, alabaster silk skin.

She didn't want to be perfect at her _job_. Not for the editor, not for the 'Dragon Lady' not for the 'Ice Queen', no. She didn't want to move on to bigger and better things. She wanted to stay right where she was.

She wanted to be near _Miranda._ She wanted to be perfect _for_ _Miranda. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, guys! Alright, I know this chapter is also super short but for some reason all my professors decided that this week was going to be full of tests and assignments. Like who even does that? Anyway, this is a set up chapter for the one to come. Andy hasn't gone in to the office yet, but I promise there will be Mirandy soon! **

**I hope you guys like this chapter, shortness and all! **

Andy wasn't really sure why she was even in bed. It's not like she was actually sleeping, like she _could _sleep. Oh no, all hopes of getting even an hour of shut eye were stamped into a flat pile of dust in the ground. Every time she closed her eyes she would successfully get minutes of unperturbed, blissful rest and then suddenly images of perfectly unblemished porcelain skin, red, almond-shaped lips, eyes of liquid aquamarine, intense and unbridled…and soft, almost whisper-like words would bombard her brain, seeping into every nook and cranny, permanently tattooing themselves into her mind.

Andy's eyes shot open as those images again decided to reappear and she nearly screamed with frustration. _How in the hell am I supposed to sleep when all I can think about is HER?!_

Andy kicked her feet against the mattress like a petulant child and smashed the heels of her hands into her probably blood shot eyes.

_Well, fuck this. _

Andy swung her legs over the edge of the bed and glared at the clock, silently hoping her stare would burst it into flames. It read 2:34. Deciding there really was no use in going through another round of attempted sleep, she padded into the bathroom and turned the knob on the shower. As the steam began to waft and float around the small room, Andy sighed and stripped off her pajamas. She had no idea how today was going to go and in all honesty she wasn't really sure how Miranda was going to act.

Not knowing how Miranda was going to act in any given situation was probably one of the things she was most familiar with…that woman was a walking surprise…but this situation was wholly different. There wasn't a problem with Miranda's coffee, there wasn't a wardrobe malfunction or a crappy paragraph in the magazine that needed to be re-written. This was…Andy didn't even know how to categorize it…would this be personal? No. Andy snorted. Miranda? Personal? With Andy? Yeah, right.

So, what the hell _was_ the other night?

Andy stepped into the shower and instantly the only thought that filled her mind was how amazingly wonderful this hot water felt on her skin. She uncurled her arms that had been crossed over her chest and allowed the water to cascade down the front of her body.

Then and only then did she remember why she had crossed her arms in the first place as her cry of pain reverberated off the tiled walls.

"Goddamn it!"

Andy flew back against the cold tile behind her and hunched over as pain after wave of pain hit the now inflamed patch on her chest. She didn't realize she was crying until her body began to shake with each sob that left her open mouth.

_Why me? Why does everything happen to me? _She was so tired, so so tired and all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball in her bed and sleep. Forever.

But, no. She couldn't do that could she? Because Miranda fucking Priestly now currently lived in every fucking corner of her goddamned mind! She was furious, and her sobs turned into shouts as she slid down the cool, damp enamel.

Miranda Priestly. Miranda Priestly. Blue. A black skirt hugging curvaceous hips. Red, glossy lips moving in time with velvet soft words. A white forelock being swept aside by a perfectly manicured hand. Miranda. Miranda.

"Ahh!" Andy screwed her eyes shut and slammed her fist into the object closest to her. Which happened to be the tile wall encasing her bathtub. Which sent an unbearable wave of pain through her hand all the way up to her shoulder blade. Again, she cried out and cradled her now pulsating, swollen hand against her inflamed, and aching chest. She couldn't stop the tears as they rolled down her cheeks and off her body into the stream of water that flowed into the drain and down into darkness.

God, she was pathetic. Not only did she burn her chest with a cup of freaking coffee, wasn't able to sleep tonight because thoughts of her self-centered, bitchy, unreasonable, sexy, and completely unavailable boss kept flashing across her brain, had punched a wall made of tile because thoughts of said boss wouldn't get out of her head, but now she was hunched over in the bath tub, completely naked, at 2 in the morning, crying like a blubbering idiot.

Oh, and now she was laughing hysterically. Because what the hell else could she do after that little revelation? For an hour, Andy alternated from bawling and guffawing until she finally decided she should snap out of it before someone called the police on her and sent her to a mental institution.

She slowly sat up and carefully leaned over to turn the shower off. With her left arm – the one she had punched the wall with – still slung over her chest, she stepped out of the bathroom and began drying herself off with her one good arm. _How am I supposed to explain _this _to Miranda? _

Andy groaned and made her way into her bedroom. After about four tries getting her underwear on she huffed and went about her bra next. That was an even more tedious task because she couldn't get the clasps together. When she was almost on the verge of tears again she decided to just use her injured hand and endure the pain because really she was about two seconds away from throwing herself out the window.

Half an hour later she was dressed in a multi-colored tank top, black cardigan, dark wash jeans and her favorite pair of Jimmy Choo boots. She had lathered her chest in ointment and had attempted to wrap her hand in the ace bandage she had found under her bathroom sink. She had no idea how it had gotten there but was incredibly grateful for it. Her cardigan was long enough that unless her sleeve was pulled up, the bandage was invisible.

By the time she ate and had drunken her third cup of coffee, it was 7:00. Andy closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths and walked out of her apartment, locking the door behind her.

Deciding she was not going to take a chance in some grumpy Subway goer bumping into her, she hailed a cab.

As she slunk into the backseat, she closed her eyes again and prayed silently that she wouldn't have to interact with Miranda much today. Maybe she would give her a thousand menial tasks that required her to not be in the office most of the day. Maybe Miranda wanted to avoid Andy as much as Andy wanted to avoid her.

And even before she arrived at Runway she knew that was wishful thinking.


End file.
